


100 - Broken Wings

by tveckling



Series: Dare to Write challenge [63]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alcohol, Easy to see as ship or platonic if you want to, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Post-Resident Evil: Vendetta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 03:03:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20369620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tveckling/pseuds/tveckling
Summary: Two broken men sitting in a bar, trying to keep each other from shattering completely.





	100 - Broken Wings

"I'm tired."

If there hadn't been a momentary lull in the conversations around them Chris wouldn't have heard the soft admission. If he hadn't already had his face turned in Leon's general direction he wouldn't have been able to move his gaze fast enough to catch the look that flashed across his partner's face. If he hadn't forced his company on the other man so often he wouldn't have been able to decipher that look.

With how cold the hand gripping his heart is he can't decide whether that's a good thing or not.

"Maybe you should take the opportunity to get a good night's rest, now in-between assignments and all," Chris suggests with forced levity. As though all Leon needs is some sleep.

And Leon still wouldn't look at him, keeping his now-blank face turned downwards, his hair falling slightly forward to block the view of his face. "I don't sleep well, regardless of work or not. Can't. Haven't for a long, long time."

And Chris knows that, knows the weariness straining his partner's voice. He feels it too, every single night, every time he's about to fall asleep only to grab his gun with a jerk as someone slams a door somewhere in the building, every time he wakes up sweaty and shaking with a scream stuck in his throat. He knows.

That's why it scares him, to hear Leon, of all people, admit such a thing. Such a weakness. Leon never allows for any weaknesses, any sign of vulnerability.

"Leon…"

As though finally realizing what he'd said Leon stiffens. Chris frantically tries to think of what to say, what he wants to do. Something. _Anything._

"I need to go."

"_Wait!_"

The conversations die out around them, but Chris doesn't realize, doesn't pay any mind to the curious looks he's receiving. Leon's face is closed off, cold, daring him to say anything, but his skin is burning hot under Chris' palm. Or maybe that's just the way all his senses seems to have been heightened to the extreme.

"Don't go."

"You're making a scene, Redfield."

That voice is sharp as glass—but Chris knows how brittle glass is, how easily it shatters. He keeps his voice level and calm. "Please."

Leon could have easily freed his hand, it would have taken but a heartbeat. Somewhere at the back of his mind, in the part that isn't currently panicking about what to do, Chris expects him to pull his hand away and leave. It's what he's done many times before.

And he does tear his hand out of Chris' grip. But then he sits down, heavily. Chris watches, in silence, as he tosses back the remaining whiskey before turning his head with a painfully fake grin. "You get more of this and I'll stay. Fuck, get a whole bottle and I might even start talking again."

Bars are not his favorite place, and alcohol is far, far from his favorite thing nowadays—but Chris doesn't hesitate in nodding. There's something in Leon's eyes, something wild and haunted and terrified, and it hasn't left Chris' mind since he first noticed it. If he can finally pry open that shell Leon's hiding inside, after months of stubborn attempts at awkward talking and bonding, then there's no way he's going to ignore his chance.

The eyes of the people around them have gone back to their own business, and conversations flow around the two of them. Leon's fiddling with one of his gloves when Chris comes back, twisting it between his hands, the movements revealing anxiety that his face keeps hidden.

Neither says a word as Chris slides back into his seat; Leon barely waits before filling his glass and downing it. But then he stills, staring into empty air with equally empty eyes. He doesn't react as Chris' knee bumps his, but his eyes flicker down when Chris silently takes one of his hands and holds it for a moment.

It's hard, for people like them, with everything they've experienced and done, to simply sit and talk and reveal things they barely admit to themselves. Chris feels the weight of his life, of all his mistakes and failures, of his many weaknesses, like a rope tightening around his throat, making it impossible to talk. And he's had support the whole way, had Jill and Claire and Piers and the whole of his BSAA comrades—he can only imagine what it's like for Leon who's had none of that.

"I can't remember the last time I slept a full night."

The voices around them makes it hard for him to hear his own voice, but he knows Leon heard him, can feel the perceptive eyes settling on him—and in a hysterical thought Chris wonders if this is what prey feel like being watched by a predator. But he stays relaxed and keeps his eyes forward, idly playing with his own glass. If he doesn't think about what he's saying, if he focuses on Leon's hand, if he focuses on _Leon_, it's not as difficult.

"I wake more often with a gun in my hand than not, and I don't want to think about what accidents might happen. But I also can't make myself rest without a loaded weapon within reach. I tried that—once."

Leon's hand clenches around Chris', as though by reflex. And there's a beat of silence. Then, he starts talking.


End file.
